The drives home get longer each time. Tonight, I stopped at a red light that seemed like I had seen it so many times before.
Lonesome highway. Cracked window at eye level, and the smell of cowboy killers lingering against my leather seats. All I could hear was the low buzz of the street lights hovering above me.
The red glow of the traffic light draped itself so delicately, yet so proudly on my dashboard, only to disappear when I got lost in it. All I could think of was you.
Why did we meet when the universe knew it would take you away from me? Why do I have to leave when the universe knew I longed for you so badly?
And why do I know we can't be meant for each other yet I still find you in the littlest things? I lose myself in your blue, puppy dog eyes more than I'd like to admit.
And I don't think I could ever get tired of seeing you wear that flannel you love so much, or plastering it with the smoke of the cigarettes I beg you to smoke with me on your front porch.
When I leave, please know there's no one else I want under my fingertips. There's no one else I want to smell on me when I drove home at night.
And there's no one else I want to find in that one red light I know so well.